


A Walk In The Dark

by rc6188



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, blake being bold and adorable and smart, blake tells more stories and scho is helplessly in love, they get slightly drunk on fancy french whisky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc6188/pseuds/rc6188
Summary: “D’you fancy a walk after this?” Blake asked softly, looking up from the stale biscuit he was crumbling between his fingers.In which Blake and Schofield take a walk in the dark and quiet confessions are made, Schofield gets slightly drunk, and Blake tells another story.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 23
Kudos: 202





	A Walk In The Dark

It was a marvelously beautiful night. The spring breeze was light on Schofield’s skin, not cool enough to chill, but just enough to make his uniform feel less suffocating. The rhythmic sound of Blake’s footsteps hitting the soft earth paired with the faint sound of chirping crickets filled Schofield with a sense tranquility he’d been routinely robbed of since the war began. 

They were walking side by side in companionable silence. Neither of them knew where they were headed, but there was something appealing about that. During a time when orders were constantly barked in their faces about what to do and where to be, Schofield relished the feeling of being completely and utterly directionless. He could pretend that he and Blake were two wayfarers, wandering the land with no real aim or purpose, just enjoying each other’s company and the nature around them. 

* * *

“D’you fancy a walk after this?” Blake had asked softly, looking up from the stale biscuit he was crumbling between his fingers. The two of them were situated at a corner in the mess hall, but their seclusion did not make them immune to the rowdy banter of the men around them. 

_"What?_ ” Schofield returned incredulously, “Did you just ask me if I fancied a wank?”

Blake looked positively flabbergasted for a moment before he promptly doubled over and burst into peals of laughter. “ _No,_ " Blake gleefully corrected, “I said, ‘D’you fancy a _walk,'_ not a wank, you bastard.”

Blake watched in great delight as realization dawned on Schofield’s rapidly reddening face, which earned him a playful shove to his shoulder. Of course Blake feigned hurt at that, clutching his shoulder dramatically and scrunching his face up in mock pain. That earned him a shove to his other shoulder, but also a chuckle. 

“Yes, that sounds nice.” Schofield finally replied, a smile still gracing his lips. 

“The wank or the walk?”

“Oh piss off, Blake.”

* * *

Now, Blake and Schofield tread quietly through a meadow, the sleeves of their uniforms occasionally brushing against the other. Suddenly, Blake stopped and let out a low whistle.

“Would you look at that. It’s brilliant.” Blake whispered, more to himself than to Schofield, his eyes trained upwards at the massive spread of glittering stars. 

“See that one there, Scho?” Blake said, his forefinger tracing the night sky. “That’s called Eridanus.”

Schofield looked at Blake in muted surprise. “You know constellations?”

“Mum had a book on them back home. It was one of my favorites when I was small, I practically memorized it.” Blake answered nonchalantly before launching off about the origin of Eridanus.

 _Wasn’t Blake just filled with surprises,_ Schofield thought. From his superb story-telling ability to his impressive map-reading skills, Blake really was a talented young man. All of a sudden, Schofield was filled with the inexplicable urge to stay by Blake’s side and protect him—forever. He wanted to be there to uncover all of Blake’s surprises, be the first to know of them. He would be lying if he said that thought didn’t scare him shitless. 

Schofield had already been recently forced to confront how much he cared for Blake when he had tripped over a branch two weeks back and split his chin badly on impact. Blake’s cry of pain and the fresh blood that was dripping down his neck had sent panic so sharp coursing through Schofield that he had to take a moment to steady himself before rushing over. Seeing Blake’s soft features etched in pain was even worse, and as Schofield cradled Blake’s head in one hand and held a bandage to his chin with the other, he found himself wishing it had been him who had taken the fall instead. The pain of seeing Blake hurt was much worse than any physical pain he could imagine. 

He had tried to reason with himself many times that it was normal to care deeply for your comrades—your brother in arms. For all it was worth, they were in the middle of a bloody war for god’s sake. How could you not grow to depend on your fellow soldiers? But then he’ll catch himself staring at the furrow that settles between Blake’s eyebrows when he gets frustrated and wanting badly to smooth it with his fingers, his lips. Now that was a Pandora’s box that he did not want to open. 

Schofield let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding. Reaching into one of his pockets, he felt around until his fingers wrapped around a small glass bottle. Blake was a few steps ahead of him now and was humming some merry little tune. 

The sound of the bottle unscrewing made Blake throw a glance over his shoulder. “What’s that, Scho?”

“French whisky.”

Blake’s eyes widened underneath the pale moonlight. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“Found it in an abandoned shop while I was on leave.” Schofield took a sip, savoring how the amber liquid burned pleasantly down his throat. He extended the bottle to Blake and watched as he took it hesitantly. 

“I’ve never had whisky before.” Blake confessed, eyeing the bottle dubiously. But before Schofield could usher a warning to go easy, Blake had already taken a large gulp. 

“Bloody hell!” Blake exclaimed, coughing. “That tastes like arse—how can you drink that, Scho?!”

Schofield felt a laugh escape from his chest at Blake’s sour expression. 

“You get used to it.” Schofield reassured, laughter still rich in his voice. He stepped over to Blake and patted him a couple times on his back. 

Blake shoved the bottle back into Schofield’s chest as he heaved himself up from his crouched position. His coughing fit had loosened a couple strands of his hair and now a few golden wisps fell across Blake’s forehead. Schofield stared, his fingers itching to reach over and brush them out of his eyes. Instead, he took another swig.

“Ah, that reminds me.” Blake began. Schofield immediately recognized the familiar lilt of his voice when he’s about to jump into another story. “Did I ever tell you about that time Joe got me drunk before a date?”

Schofield quirked an eyebrow. “No, but that doesn’t sound very good.”

“It was a bloody disaster.” Blake said sheepishly, running a hand through his hair which only served to tousle it even more. “D’you want to sit down? It’s a long one.”

He nodded in return as he followed Blake to a nearby tree. Schofield sat down first, setting down his pack and resting his back against the cool bark. Blake plopped down next to him, close enough that their sides were flush against each other. If it was any other time, Schofield would’ve shifted away, wary of what others would think. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was not a soul in sight and Schofield’s defenses had been lowered by the alcohol. It was dangerous and he knew it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care when the warm contact was so pleasant. He knocked his shoulder into Blake’s. “Well, go on then.”

“Alright, alright,” Blake started, his hands fiddling with the grass between his legs. “When I was fifteen, Joe was seeing this girl from our town who had a younger sister who fancied me.”

Schofield smirked. “Quite the ladies man aren’t we, Blake?”

Blake shoved Schofield’s knee in response. “Well, Joe ended up setting up a date for the two of us and I only agreed ‘cause Joe said Margaret would be angry with him if I didn’t.” Schofield hummed in sympathy. “The night of, I was so nervous that I locked myself in my bedroom and refused to come out.” 

Blake shook his head at the memory. He drawled, voice laced with a bit of annoyance, “Then Joe said he had something for me to calm my nerves.”

“He called it,” Blake threw his hands up into the sky in dramatic emphasis, "' _liquid courage._ '"

Schofield laughed, actually _laughed,_ the bright sound filling the air around them. Whether it was at young Blake’s antics, the current Blake’s charm, or the fact that it was almost midnight and all Schofield wanted to do was sit here with Blake and listen to him talk, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“So you were so scared of her that Joe had to get you drunk?” Schofield teased. He snuck a glance at Blake’s profile to gauge his reaction and promptly had the breath stolen from his lungs. The soft moonlight stained Blake’s features, illuminating his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips. He looked ethereal, like something that only manifested in dreams, and Schofield could not breathe. He was _so_ devastatingly beautiful. 

“No,” Blake objected, lips forming a perfect “o.” Schofield couldn’t resist staring. “I just—I just wasn’t interested in her.” Schofield’s eyes were trained on Blake’s lips now. He could feel Blake’s gaze boring onto his face, probably confused, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes in fear that he would find disgust reflected in the blue. 

Blake continued, voice barely above a whisper now, “Well, to be frank, I really wasn’t—I reckon I'm not really into girls...” Blake trailed off. Schofield didn't even notice.

But god, Blake’s lips were so red and full and practically glistening. And they were so close, faces centimeters apart. Alcohol’s all Schofield’s got to blame for why he reached out and ran his thumb across the swell of Blake’s bottom lip, heavy and unmistakable. 

Reason came to him far too late and he jerked his hand back. _How stupid can he be? Now Blake thinks he's a queer. Things will never be the same. He should apologize. Apologize now and say he didn’t mean it. Blame it on the whisky._

Schofield buried his face in his palms and let out a shuddering breath. “Blake, I’m so sorry—”

“Scho.”

“Christ, sorry. Please ignore me, I didn’t mean any—”

" _Will._ " The urgency laced with something Schofield couldn’t quite pinpoint in Blake’s voice caused him to snap his head up. Blake had used his first name too. _What’s going on?_

“Will, relax.” Blake said softly, prying one of Schofield’s hands from its death grip on his own knee. He threaded Schofield’s shaking fingers into his own. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“What?” Schofield forced out. He could barely hear Blake over the deafening pounding of his own heart. 

“I said,” Blake brought Schofield’s fingers back onto his lips. Schofield could feel every hot puff of breath on his cold fingertips as Blake murmured, voice low, “I don’t fancy girls. At all.” 

Schofield was puzzled for a second, mesmerized by the absurdity of this situation, before the meaning of Blake’s words hit him like a bludgeon. His mouth opened but no words came out. Thousands of thoughts were ricocheting through his mind. _Did Blake actually want this? Want him? Was he dreaming—_ he pinched his leg with his unoccupied hand— _no he wasn’t._

Blake ran his tongue across the pad of one of his fingers. “What do you want, Scho?”

Schofield’s breath hitched involuntarily. His finger burned. 

“Oh bloody hell, Will.” Blake grunted in frustration as he lunged forward and threw a leg over Schofield’s form. He settled in his lap, reaching up with a hand to gently cup Schofield’s jaw. 

“Tom…”

Schofield took one more look at Blake before he felt lips meeting his own. Blake tasted like the french whisky, sweet like caramel. It was divine and Schofield sighed into the kiss. Blake hummed in appreciation and deepened the kiss, tracing his tongue along Schofield’s bottom lip. As Schofield opened his mouth, letting Blake explore it, he decided that this was probably the best feeling in the world. 

Emboldened by the tiny sounds Blake was making into his mouth, Schofield snaked a hand into Blake’s hair and carded his fingers through the tufts. He tugged slightly when Blake bit down on his lip and Blake moaned loudly. The sound sent heat flooding down Schofield. 

When they finally broke apart, Blake’s hair was thoroughly disheveled, his pupils were blown wide and he was panting hard, his mouth bruised red from the kiss. Schofield couldn’t decide if he wanted to stare at Blake like this for another day or to tear all of his clothes off right now. Instead, he settled on running his hands up Blake’s thighs which earned him another pleasant sigh that tumbled past Blake’s lips. 

Blake fell forward and nestled his face in the crook of where Schofield’s neck met his shoulder. He began pressing open-mouthed kisses along the pale expanse of skin and Schofield’s head lolled back against the tree for support; one hand found its way back into Blake’s hair while the other traced up his thigh and uncovered searing skin hidden behind layers of cotton. Blake’s hot breath fanned across Schofield’s skin which was now wet and hypersensitive from his touch. He groaned, the pleasure was overwhelming.

To return the sentiment or maybe just because he wanted to taste Blake’s skin, Schofield shifted his hands and peeled the collar of Blake’s uniform down, exposing new skin. He leaned in and sucked a kiss into Blake’s collarbone, tasting at the salt of his skin before clamping his teeth down and biting hard. It was hard enough to make Blake jerk on top of him, hips canting forward, breath catching in his throat. Schofield groaned into Blake’s neck, soothing the bite with his tongue.

“ _Fuck_ , Scho,” Blake whined, breaths uneven and rapid. He grinded down hard on Schofield, pushing as close as possible. The act sent sparks of pleasure coursing through him.

Schofield couldn’t take much more of this. He placed his hands on Blake’s hips to still them, which was met with a whimper of protest. “Slow down,” Schofield said gently, gazing up at Blake, “we’ve got all night, if you want.”

Blake let out a long, stuttering exhale that turned into a breathy laugh, “Now you choose to talk.”

“For a second there, I was starting to think that you’d gone deaf or mute, or maybe both, you old man.” Blake joked.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I just didn’t think that you…” Schofield trailed off, trying to find the right words, “that you felt the same way, I guess.”

Blake smiled down at Schofield. “Course I do, you wanker.” Schofield’s heart clenched and he felt his lips stretch into a grin that mirrored Blake's. He wrapped his arms around Blake’s waist and pulled him in flush against his chest.

“Wait a second, who’re you calling an old man and a wank—”

Before he could finish, Blake’s lips came crashing down on his, effectively silencing him. Schofield was more than okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i'm back with yet another 1917 fic. i know that blake didn't finish telling his story, but i'm planning on writing a follow-up where he does. i'm not sure though...we'll see. i wrote this while listening to 'the night we met' by lord huron on repeat over a weekend and neglecting studying for my chem midterm. oops. i really wanted to write something happy this time—the boys deserve happiness! this is also my first venture into writing anything sexual so i'm sorry if it's shit lmao. well, i hope you guys enjoy this. feel free to leave a comment if you'd like! i love feedback. :) thanks for reading. <3
> 
> on a separate note, i'm in love with george mackay??


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